The Headless Waltz
by Dattebayo Girl
Summary: It was a dark time in France. The people needed someone to blame, someone to behead. "Before your eyes, what a curious site, your children have turned on you. And you say, you don't sleep well at night? Well, we'll take care of that for you." (Dark Song Fic featuring France / Francis. No pairing, rated for Death. Song is The Headless Waltz by Voltaire)


**As above, so below, place your bets  
Which way the head will roll  
Made in your image we are at least  
As twisted and mean as thee  
'Fore your eyes, what a curious site  
Your children have turned on you  
And you say, you don't sleep well at night  
Well, we'll take care of that for you**

It had been a dark and dreary day- a seemingly typical kind of weather for dark times like this. He stumbled along head bowed, and still tugging at his fetters. He had been mistreated severely as he spent his incarceration time arguing with the guards that he did not belong there, and he was innocent- a Nation, yes, but a nation who only had the best in mind for his people.

Needless to day, they were not only not unswayed, they showed just how much they cared not for the blond, allowing him no time outside of his cell, and allowing both other guards and other inmates to let loose on Francis, taking out all their woes and anguish on the defenseless nation, since it was 'supposedly' his fault that the French revolution had started in the first place.

So as he walked to his doom, he looked not at the morbidly curious or morbidly sadist. He didn't stare back at those humans who stared down at him with disgust, distaste, mean spirited smiles of 'just deserves'.

**Francois Bonnefoy  
"Necklace Chain?"  
It'll make a great tourniquet  
Never did as you should and you claim  
It was all for our very own good  
'Twas a lie, a magnificent lie  
Now, your subjects have turned on you  
And you claim you had lots on your mind  
Well, we'll take care of that for you**

He was thin, bony almost, and seemed broken as he dragged himself closer- the dimmed sunlight creating the lightest glint off of the metal plate that had been raised to the heavens. He took a moment to lift his head to observe it, his face expressionless as his long, stringy, and unkempt hair slid back against his grimy face with gravity to allow him to see.

He had really tried to prove his innocence, however impossible it seemed. These people weren't looking for answers, not looking for the truth. They only wanted to see people suffer more than they were suffering.

Slowly, Francis stopped attempting to free himself. He stopped when he realized he was the scape goat for the people who knew nothing else of what they could do. Even when Arthur stopped by, shocked with his incarceration. _Even when_ his friends, Spain and Prussia tried to help. He only started to shake his head, and told them to leave.

The French Revolution would slay anyone foolish enough to be in it's path, and Francis found himself bounded to it, constantly teetering on the edge of road until he had finally fallen in.

**Get that damn thing off his neck  
I'm the head of the board now I'm bored of his head  
Sharpen up the blade boys, what are you waiting for?  
Here's where we all get ahead!**

The King (Or whoever was running this circus, he didn't know anymore.) was unsatisfied with how at peace he must have appeared, because with a single signal, the guards shoved him forward, and he almost fell as his feet tried to catch up with him.

His shirt and pants were merely tattered, hardly holding onto his weightless body. Somehow he had managed to keep his gold chain cross about his neck, not that it would matter in a few minutes. He was shoved again, hitting a recently closed wound that popped right back open, and he gritted his teeth as he glared up at the sky and at least tried to pick up the pace.

How cruel for people to do this to their own country. Even if they only wanted someone to blame, they were all sick for exactly that reason. Death made them feel better. Other's sufferings made them feel better.

He dropped his head again, overgrown hair hiding his face. It was so funny. Haha. Funny.

**Wipe that damn smile off your face  
Or we'll lop it off clean with our new guillotine  
Sharpen up the blade boys, what are you waiting for?  
Here's where we all get ahead!**

But he couldn't. It was just so funny. Did these people know that he'd still be alive? That he would probably be in more pain than they could imagine? Living though each era, continually, eventually being betrayed by your own people again and again... Something he realized happened more often than he thought.

None of these people would ever understand. They will suffer, but never as much as him... no where close. Their bodies gave out when they had too much. He would still be expected to report in for work tomorrow. If they had a sample of what he had to experience, they'd go insane.

Maybe that was it.

Maybe he was already insane.

**_All my troubles, all my pain  
Stems from these things a "heart" and a "brain"  
Be my guest, sever me from the source  
Of all my agony  
What a shame, I've forgotten my name  
Without the use of my brain and  
"My, bet I'll sleep well tonight!"  
Without this head of mine_**

He was shoved a third time, that old wound really starting to bleed again. It was his bottom left portion of his back, which turned his much-dirtied clothes dirtier with a growing splotch of red causing the fabric to stick.

Though this time, instead of a cry of pain, it was a cry of laughter, tears building at his eyes. He didn't want this anymore. If it was possible to really die, he'd gladly take it... But for now, he'd let the humans have their fun. He laughed once more at the sky. God was so delightfully cruel, wasn't he?

The crowd began to chatter amongst themselves, full of worry and paranoia at the madman as he finally reached the platform. He spoke so casually, acted as if this was all a joke. Was he not afraid of death? Afraid of the pain?

**_Get that this damn thing off my neck  
You're the head of the board now I'm bored of my head  
Sharpen up the blade boys, what are you waiting for?  
Here's where we all get ahead!_**

He obediently slid his head into the contraption, though he put on his most charming smile for the crowd, all part of the play. They tried to get him to be afraid- fearing, praying for his life so that they could enjoy his suffering... but nothing they did or could do could change his attitude.

He could very well consider this death as the birth someone new. Someone who would break this pattern of devotion in betrayal. Humans would be on their own after this. His smile morphed into a frightening grin, very well scaring half of the human audience, causing for horrified cries of alarmed at this man who would enjoy being killed.

**Wipe that damn smile off your face  
Or we'll lop it off clean with our new guillotine  
Sharpen up the blade boys-  
Bells are now tolling, soon heads will be rolling...**

This ending was a new beginning.  
This new beginning was of the end.

The last thing he remember was the neat sounding _ssschwiiiing-_ of the metal blade dropping. He decided at that moment he liked that sound.

_**Please Sir, for me, Sir,  
Won't you see if you see, Sir?  
Oh dear, I dread  
I seem to have lost my head  
I think I left it about  
It fell to the ground  
And I kicked it around  
Has anyone seen, no need to be mean,  
My bloody, fat, ugly head?  
Please Miss, for me, Sis,  
Won't you see if you see, Sis  
It's got blonde hair  
And it's kickin' about in the square  
I'm really not totally sure but  
I think that it might have rolled into the sewer.  
Has anyone seen, no need to be mean,  
My bloody, fat, ugly head?**_


End file.
